The Radium Water Craze: A Curious Chapter in Health and Marketing

Around the turn of the twentieth century, Marie and Pierre Curie’s discovery of radium sparked a frenzy of interest in its potential health benefits. Companies from various industries eagerly incorporated the radioactive element into their products, touting its supposed healing properties. Radium found its way into everyday consumer goods, including cosmetics, toothpaste, hair creams, over-the-counter medications, health restoratives, bottled water, and watch dials.

radium water bittke
Great Radium Spring Water (personal collection)

Adding to this surge, researchers detected natural radioactivity in springs across the United States. Physicians suggested that there was a health benefit to “taking the waters” at these springs. according to the Bulletin for the History of Chemistry. By the middle of the 1910s, thermal springs experienced a renaissance as places not merely to “take the waters” but to receive the benefits of radioactivity.1 However, most Americans lacked the time or means to visit spas. The solution? Bottling and shipping radioactive water.    

In 1914, seizing upon this trend, the Pine Crest Spring Water Company of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, rebranded itself as the Great Radium Spring Water Company. Under the direction of Fred M. Osteyee, the owner, the company offered bottled water and flavored drinks. The amount of radium in the product is unknown – it could have been a minuscule trace or a clever marketing ploy.2,3

As scientific research started shedding light on the hazards of radiation exposure, the once-thriving radium trend began to fade in the late 1920s and early 1930s. The Great Radium Spring Water Company ceased its operations in 1931. (Of course, the Great Depression probably impacted business, too.) Concurrently, tragic cases like that of the “Radium Girls” – young factory workers suffering from radium poisoning after ingesting the luminous paint used on watch dials – cast a shadow over products.

Great Radium Spring Water advertisement
Great Radium Spring Water Advertisement (Berkshire Eagle, Aug 14, 1926)

Furthermore, stricter regulations emerged to combat misleading health claims associated with products. The pervasive advertisements promoting radium’s purported healing properties came under scrutiny because of this, prompting regulatory authorities to intervene and rein in the excesses of corporations that had capitalized on the radium craze.

Resting on a shelf in my office is a relic from this bygone era: a century-old aqua-blue bottle adorned with the Great Radium Spring Water Company logo. This artifact is a tangible link to a time when corporations eagerly promoted radium-infused products as miracle cures.

I sometimes incorporate this bottle into my lectures on the history of public health and use it to illustrate the complexities of consumer products during the emerging nuclear age. It is a reminder of an era when companies made promises of health and vitality but left behind a legacy of tragic consequences. Inspired by a recent viewing of the play Radium Girls, I retrieved the old bottle from the shelf to share its story on the blog.

Endnotes

  1. Matthew Lavine, “The Two Faces of Radium in Early American Nuclear Culture,” Bulletin for the History of Chemistry 39, no. 1 (2014): 56.[]
  2. Great Radium Spring Water Co. Bottles,” Museum of Radiation and Radioactivity, accessed March 18, 2024.[]
  3. Robbybobby64, “Great Radium Spring Water Co.,” Antique Bottles, accessed March 18, 2024,[]

Fighting for Equality on Route 40

A few months ago, I received a call from a producer working on the Audible docuseries Shadowball. This series delves into the history and experiences of Black athletes in the context of social justice and racial equality. Their interest was piqued by my 2013 research, which focused on the movement to segregate Route 40 in Cecil County and Delaware. While investigating this, I encountered the arrest of the civil rights activist Erosenna “Rose” Robinson, and they are profiling this talented athlete in one segment.

Rose Robinson civil rights protester arrested on Route 40 in Cecil County.
Rose Robinson of Philadelphia was taken to the Elkton magistrate’s court. (Cecil Whig Photo, Sept. 14, 1961)

Robinson gained recognition in the 1950s for her talent in track and field competitions. In 1958, she won the National Amateur Athletic Union (AAU) high jumping championship and joined the United States Track & Field Team. She then declined to compete with the U.S. Team in the Soviet Union despite the Cold War tensions. The athlete told Jet Magazine, “I don’t want anyone to think my athletics have political connotations. In other words, I don’t want to be used as a political pawn.”1

This public refusal was significant as Black athletes, musicians, and other notable figures were often used by the State Department to counter the image “Jim Crow cast on America” around the globe, Women’s Sports writes.2,3

Robinson’s activism with the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) led her to the Route 40 campaign in September 1961. While traveling on the dual highway alongside fellow activist Wally and Juanita Nelson, they stopped at a diner in North East, MD. When the three Freedom Riders refused to leave the restaurant, the state police intervened and arrested them. Once booked into the Cecil County Jail, the “sit-downers” staged a hunger strike and refused to cooperate with the court.4

After fasting for several days, the sheriff sent Robinson and the Nelsons to Crownsville, the state psychiatric hospital for African Americans. However, the mental health clinician at Crownsville found them to be mentally sound, promptly returning the protestors to the Elkton Jail.5

Freedom Riders trial in Elkton after arrest on Route 40
A crowd gathered outside the courtroom of Magistrate Leonard Lockhart, but the defendants refused to leave their cells. (Morning News Photo, Sept. 12, 1961)

This unfolding situation gained attention from city dailies and the African American press, and the group came to be known as the “Elkton Three.” Shortly after, their $50 fines were suspended, and officials quietly released them.6,7 The movement to fully desegregate Route 40 gained momentum, and under pressure from President Kennedy, Maryland Governor Millard Tawes signed a public accommodation law in 1963 prohibiting discrimination in restaurants and hotels.8

The Audible docuseries segment focuses on Rose Robinson’s life of long-lasting activism, and the Route 40 incident was one of many for the exceptional athlete.

Endnotes

  1. Maria Lee, “The Pioneers: Two Black Women Whose Legacies of Sports Activism Live on,” Just Women’s Sports, Feb. 10, 2022[]
  2. Lee, “The Pioneers: Two Black Women Whose Legacies of Sports Activism Live on”.[]
  3. Ryan Shepard, “Remember the Name: Rose Robinson Paved the Way for Athlete Activists”, Black Information Network, Apr 26, 2021.[]
  4. Mike Dixon, “Freedom Riders Arrive on Route 40 in Northeastern MD as CORE Works to Integrate Route 40,” Window on Cecil County’s Past, August 1, 2013.[]
  5. Dixon, “Freedom Riders on Route 40.”[]
  6. James D. Williams, “One Way to Get In A Mental Hospital,The Afro-American, September 30, 1961.[]
  7. Rufus Wells, “Guilty of Being Colored,” Afro-American, September 30, 1961.[]
  8. Maryland State Archives, “Executive Records, Governor J. Millard Tawes, 1959-1967,” Archives of Maryland Online.[]

A Newspaper Mourning Practice: Turning the Rules

In the 19th century, mourning practices in the United States were deeply structured and ceremonial, governing social interactions, fashion, and grieving customs. Amid these strict norms, newspaper editors adhered to a unique mourning tradition.

During periods of public bereavement–such as the passing of a notable politician, military officer, or publisher–the editor engaged in a practice known as “turning the rules.” Although this tradition is no longer observed, it often grabs the attention of researchers studying old publications, and its historical significance remains intriguing.

every evening, wilington newspaper, composition room
The composition room of the Even Evening in September 1905

When a prominent individual passed, the newspaper sought to announce the death and convey collective sorry. The work to make this happen occurred in the composing room, where the pages of the paper took shape as the compositors turned the rules. These column rules typically created white space between columns of text on a page.

But once the paper was in mourning, they displayed their grief with dark printers’ ink between the columns by reversing the rules. As the pages came off the press, the normal rules—white spacing separating columns of text– framed with heavy black bands of ink, creating a visual tribute to the departed. These dark bands conveyed grief, signaling to readers that the publication mourned the loss of a significant figure.1

newspaper mourning, turning the rules, west-jersey pioneer, bridgetown, NJ
Reporting on the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln, the editor turned the rules on the April 22, 1865 issue of the West-Jersey Pioneer in Bridgeton, NJ, framing the paper in black mourning ink. (Source: Chronicling America at the Library of Congress)

Don Herring, a newspaper editor who began his career with the Indianapolis Star in Indiana after the Korean War, introduced me to this old practice. The turned rules, once an expression of mourning by journalists, now reside in the annals of newspaper history–a journalist’s tradition from a bygone era. 

Endnotes

  1. Edmund C. Arnold, “Designing the Total Newspaper,” 1981, Harper & Row Publishers: New York.[]

North East Town Lockup: Researching a Unique Structure

Small town lockups are typically simple and unremarkable structures designed to hold lawbreakers temporarily. However, the Town of North East, MD, at the top of the Chesapeake Bay, boasts a unique municipal lockup that stands out from the rest. This two-story brick structure, designed by architect Levi O. Cameron in 1885, features distinctive three-pronged turrets and barred windows, giving it a fortress-like appearance.

town lockup north east md
The Town Lockup in North East, MD.

As a scholar interested in social history and criminal justice, I have always been fascinated by this remarkable edifice. It is uncommon for cost-conscious municipalities to invest in attractive structures for detaining offenders, making the North East lockup a noteworthy exception.

Recently, I embarked on a research project focused on recommending the lockup for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places. To accomplish this, I began delving into the architectural and social history of the lockup. My investigation led me to the North East Town Hall, where I meticulously examined the old pages of corporate minute books. These records allowed me to trace the evolution of the small jail over time and understand the considerations that went into its construction.

While there are readily available online sources for researching structures, such as newspapers from Chronicling America at the Library of Congress, a deeper investigation into the history of a building usually requires consulting records beyond local papers. Also, this line of inquiry often leads me to explore state, municipal, county, and corporate archives.

In the case of the North East lockup, I spent time at the town hall studying corporate minute books dating from the late 19th to the middle of the 20th century. The town made its archives readily available, and the public records custodians helped me access them.

Researching the history of a small town lockup for placement on the National Register of Historic Places involves thoroughly examining various sources, including local records, archives, and historical documents. By delving into these extended resources, we can uncover valuable insights into these structures’ architectural and social significance, ultimately contributing to their preservation and recognition.